You Can't Save Everyone
by ShadowPendragon
Summary: There is a girl in a train station, saved by a doctor. She begins to live with John Watson and Sherlock Holmes. What could go wrong? (Rated M for sexual themes, drug abuse, violence, suicide, and maybe other things) Set right after The Hounds of Baskerville.
1. A Girl In a Station

There was a girl, alone in a train station. It was as though she was invisible to those around her. People were always in a hurry, so she understood why no one had asked her what she was doing alone. Or maybe no one asked her because she was an 'undesirable'. Homeless. She watched the liveliness from the corner of the station, waiting for the train. But she didn't plan on boarding it. It was time to execute something she had been planning for a very long time.

"Perhaps" She muttered to herself, through her thick scarf "if im quick enough, they wont notice." She knew she wasn't thinking straight. But she didn't care. "Six years of loneliness." She put her hand in her pocket, shuffling around for something. Finally, she pulled out an old, dirtied piece of paper.

 _Your name is Nova._

 _You are 11._

 _You are from America._

 _You are alone._

A loud sound came from the other side of the station. It was the train and it was time. "Last stop." Nova said, only because it sounded like good last words. She felt empty as she walked closer to the tracks and the drugs were to blame. Everything was slow. The people, the train, even herself. She wished time would go faster, so she could get this over with. It wasn't as one would expect, dying. Or the moment before dying, at least. You'd think thoughts rush through your head, your heart beats quicker, and even if you're ready, you're scared. That wasn't how it was for Nova. But it could be that she was just a special case. She didn't really care.

She stood at the edge now, staring blankly at the place where she would fall to. The train started rolling again, the conducter must have been unaware of her presence and this was not new. You get used to being invisible after six years.

A hand grasped hers. She turned around, very quickly. Everything was distorting, shifting this way and that. The person who had a hold of her hand had tired eyes. The kind of eyes that have seen too much. This was all Nova could process at the moment. He was talking, very quickly, in a concerned tone. The train was passing. "What a waste of time." She mumbled. The station was spinning now, round and round and round. Maybe if she let go of the strangers hand, she would fly off, right into the side of train. None of her thoughts were making sense.

He was still talking. How long had he been talking? It seems like ages, an eternity, an eon. She still couldn't process what he was talking about, much less why his tired eyes looked so concerned. Her vision was blurring now. The corners fading to a black. "Oh dear..." Nova said, right before she passed out.

There was a detective, alone in his flat. He laid on his couch, very stiffly. "Bored" He moaned, as he did at times like this when there was nothing to do. He had gone through so many cases, and of course they all looked boring. He really wanted a cigarette at the moment. Everything was quiet in the flat. His companion had left to get groceries and there was no telling where the landlady might be. The detective laid very still, eyes closed, and listened.

The landlady was downstairs making tea. He could hear her know. But where was his doctor friend? He looked at his watch. He should be home in seven minutes. Probably had a go at the self-checkout machine. But when the detective heard the door downstairs open two minutes and fourteen seconds later, he was a bit surprised. That emotion quickly went away as he listen more carefully. His friend was carrying something a bit heavy, but not to heavy to be much of a burden, definitely not groceries, he would hear the bags rustling. Sounded like he was having trouble getting up the stairs. He quickly deduced that John was carrying something living.

"Sherlock!" A yell came from downstairs "Help me with this bloody girl!"

Sherlock very quickly jumped up and made his way over to the staircase. "New girlfriend, John?" He said sarcastically. He was greeted with a death glare. "You don't know who she is." He stated as he grabbed her legs to help John carry her up. "Yeah! Obviously not." After a minute or two, she lay on the couch. John looked her over. He listed off her symptoms one by one. "Withdrawal." The doctor finally said, flatly. "Obviously." Sherlock stated from his chair. "So, you see a homeless woman, high and possibly dying, and you decide to bring her to the flat instead of a hospital?"

"If she's homeless she obviously doesn't have money for a hospital."

"We don't have time to turn this into an emergency room."

"Sherlock. She was about to jump in front of a train. I didn't know what else to do."

"Let me see her."

The detective strode over to the girl.

"No self-inflicted scars, bruises on her arm from drugs, she's not suicidal, shes just high."

The men went bickering on and on. It didn't stir Nova from her unconscious state. Eventually both men came to a conclusion. They would keep her here until she woke up, which wouldn't be long according to Sherlock, and when she did wake up, they'd make sure she was alright and send her on her way. After all, they couldn't save everyone.


	2. Where Am I?

**Authors note: I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. I'm going to try to write short chapters but upload them frequently. If you'd like, leave a review.**

 _Where am I?_

It's a good question for one to ask when they're wandering in their own dreams. But there was a much better question for Nova to be asking.

 _Who am I?_

She stared up into an endless sea of stars. The feeling of insignificance bared down on her, perhaps if she moved around a bit, she wouldn't be completely crushed by it.

Nova sat up and looked around. She was in a field that looked completely isolated from the rest of the world, with no person near at all. If the young girl was to listen very very closely she would be able to hear two people's voices. Sadly, this was not the time to be interested in sounds, this was the time to be interested in self-discovery. At least that's what she thought, in the moment. After spending years stuck with amnesia, you get tired of constantly trying to figure everything out, so eventually you quit and only really try to think about your past in dreams.

"I want to go home." Said Nova, to no one.

In dreams, you happen to forget things more than remember them. In this case, she had forgotten that she had no home.

In that moment, there was a loud bang that came from the sky. She quickly looked up in confusion. The sky was illuminated with a great ball of color and light. A piece of paper fell from the sky, landing at the confused girls feet. She picked it up. There were words on it, but they looked twisted and wrong. She didn't have time to process this.

Nova awoke with a start and immediately knew she needed to throw up. She didn't care where she was as long as there was a trash bin nearby. The girls eyes darted around and to her relief there was one just beside her. Nothing really came out, as she had expected. A grunt of pain came from her as she laid back down, closed her eyes and tried to think.

 _Am I dead?_

She felt what she thought being dead might feel like. Empty, lonely, etcetera. Nova had never believed in such things as the after-life but perhaps it wasn't totally out of the question. She tried to remember what led up to this moment. Figure out if she really was dead or not.

 _I was at the station. I almost jumped onto the tracks. Why did I do that? What a waste of time. Did I succeed? No. There was a man. What did he look like again?_

She tried her best to visualize his face through the haze of everything. All she could see was those tired eyes.

 _This is useless. Im delaying the inevitable._

She finally opened her eyes. It was too bright in the room. The girl waited a bit for her eyes to adjust and looked around.

It was a living room. A very dusty living room at that. Particles of the stuff were floating everywhere. The place was absolutely cluttered. Stacks upon stacks of papers and files laid on a table close to where Nova laid. There was a cozy looking fireplace, a knife had been stabbed into some files on the mantle of it. A few chairs were sitting about.

She froze when her eyes came to rest on a man sitting in one of the chairs. He looked familiar. Curly black locks came to rest on his head, his face passive and lost in thought, eyes closed. His hands were positioned very close to his face, as though he was praying.

 _People praying in the afterlife? Funny._

The mans eyes flew open. He was staring right at her. Nova still didn't know what to say or do. She sat up gingerly and tried to ask the question that had been lingering on her mind since she had woken up. But how could she? She had never seen this man in her life. Why would she be seeing him in the afterlife? Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she asked.

"Am I dead?" The girls voice was very hoarse and for a moment she thought he hadn't heard her. But he had definitely heard her. She knew this when he snorted and raised his eyebrows at her.

"Well, that's one I've never heard before." He said sarcastically.

Anxiety came crashing down on her as she dug her nails into her arm.

 _Of course I'm not dead. What the hell was I thinking? Idiot! Where even am I?_

"Where am I? Who are you?" The eyes of the girl darted around frantically, looking for possible escape routes, in the case that this man had bad intentions. Of course Sherlock Holmes was not intending on hurting her. He just intended on seeing her out of his flat as soon as possible. He was busy and had no time for confused girls who were high off their tits. He analyzed her for a moment. To Nova, he looked as though he was about to eat her for dinner.

"You are in 221b Baker Street. I am Sherlock Holmes." His tone was not friendly. More annoyed than anything. Nova knew now why she recognized his face.

"Oh! You're the detective who solved all those weird suicides... er murders, I mean. Your face was all over the newspapers."

"I'm aware."

"So um..." She trailed off. Why the hell was she in the flat of the most famous detectives in London? Trying to think very hard of how she came to be here, she shifted uncomfortably. It was an awkward situation indeed, waking up in famous persons flat with little recollection of how she had gotten there.

"What part of America did you emigrate from?" He cut of her thoughts.

"Oh! Uh... I'd rather not talk about it." She finally plucked up the courage to ask. "Sorry but how did I get here, exactly?"

Sherlock raised his eyebrows at her before jumping into an explanation.

"My flatmate found you at the train station, high and ready to jump onto the tracks. Because he has such a kind soul, he stopped you. According to him you fainted. He saw that you were homeless and instead of taking you to a hospital, he brought you here. Of course, you didn't want to take your life at all, did you? No self-inflicted injuries, just bruises from needles. You were just high."

Anger hit Nova like a train. He knew nothing about if she was suicidal or not, why should he even say anything about it? Sherlock was not the one who saved her. The girl opened her mouth to say something but before she could, the detective interrupted.

"Name?"

"Nova and don't ask for a last name because I don't know what it is." There was venom in her voice but Sherlock looked a bit intrigued. How could she not know her last name? Perhaps this one wouldn't be as dull as he thought. The consulting detective very quickly deduced that she had amnesia. Most likely very severe amnesia judging by how clueless she had look when he asked what state she had come from.

This was going to be a very interesting day, indeed.


	3. Occasional Prostitute

**Author's Note: I've figured out an update schedule for this story. I will try to upload a chapter every Wednesday and Saturday. Anyways, enjoy!**

* * *

Deductions, deductions, deductions.

Nova was amazed and annoyed with everything he was figuring out. He had been rattling off all that he knew about her for the past few minutes.

"Amnesia." Nova wasn't surprised he knew this, it was obvious that she had amnesia.

"Homeless." Again, no surprise.

"Little to no friends." Now it was getting a bit odd. How could he know that?

"Didn't start using drugs until about a month ago." There was no way he would be able to figure that out by just looking at her!

He just kept going on and on. She wondered if he would ever stop. A fascinating as his deduction skills were, she didn't like that he could know this much about her.

"Smokes, but only if the cigarettes are free."

"Single."

"No family."

"Anxiety."

"Occasional prostitute."

Nova jumped out of her seat to have a go at Sherlock. Before she could punch him in the face, the detective was standing, holding her clenched fist. He was stronger than he looked. "Anger issues. Not a good thing to have when you're malnourished and can't fight." Sherlock's expression was smug but the girls face was red with anger, her whole body shaking with rage. "There's no way in hell you can know this stuff." She spit at him.

"You've come into a bit of money recently, judging by your clothes. Not a lot but enough to splurge. It didn't come from any 'traditional' job, people don't hire the homeless. It's most likely not the drug trade since you've been using drugs yourself. The slightly intelligent ones in the drug trade don't use them, easier to get caught that way. The chances of a young homeless girl selling her body are incredibly high. Therefore, prostitute."

"It only happened a few times and it was with people I knew." She wanted to slap that 'don't deny it because you know I'm right' look right off Sherlock's face. Nova decided against it though since he could probably pin her down in two seconds and she did not feel well enough to exert any more energy in retaliation.

"Thank you for confirming my suspicion."

It was at this moment that a certain doctor arrived back at his flat. John Watson had had a very long day at work and was hoping that the girl on their couch had woken up by the time he got home. He hoped even more that his flat mate had been at least a little bit kind to her. Sadly, wishing and hoping were not enough in this situation. He quickly learned this as he entered the flat and saw the girl and Sherlock. Nova, looking as though she was about to kill the detective, and Sherlock looking as though he had come across something slightly amusing.

"I'm not interrupting something, am I?" John said in exasperation.

Nova turned towards the door where John stood, still having her wrist held by the consulting detective. Those tired eyes were easily recognizable. "Of course not, John." Sherlock stated before she could say anything. "Could you let go of me now?" She said through gritted teeth as she tried to pull away her wrist. Her effort was mostly futile. Finally, he let go.

She rubbed her wrist and glared at the tall man, before turning her attention to John. "Thank you very much for helping me, John, was it? But I think I should be on my way now." The girls tone towards the ex-army doctor was polite.

"What?" John was surprised. "But you're not well! Please let me have another look at you." Nova gave him an odd expression. "Have another look at me?" She said. The doctor mentally chastised himself for not being more clear. "I'm a doctor. I checked over your health when I brought you here. I'm sorry, but I thought you were dying." The girl looked more understanding now, but she gave it a moments thought. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt, but I have little money to pay you for your work."

"You don't have to pay me."

"But I should."

"But I won't make you. I get enough money from the hospital."

Nova dug her nails into her arm again. Everything about this day was giving her anxiety. Maybe she should just agree to it so she could get out of the flat as quickly as possible.

Meanwhile, Sherlock was getting bored of all this. "I'll be in the kitchen." He said, leaving the two. He closed the sliding kitchen door behind him and jumped into an experiment, quickly forgetting the girl that was standing in his living room.

To John's delight, Nova finally agreed to letting him check her over. As they sat on the couch, they made small talk.

"What's your name?"

"Nova."

"Where do you come from?"

"America."

"Do you have any relative in London?"

"Not that I know of."

"How old are you?"

"Probably seventeen. Could be sixteen or even eighteen. Hard to tell when you don't know your birthday."

He gave her an odd look as he was checking her heart beat. She should have just said seventeen and just left it that, but she hadn't really thought of her answer. She hoped he wouldn't ask her what she meant.

"What do you mean?"

And here we see again, hope is useless.

"It's a long story."

"I have time." He was really bent on learning her past, wasn't he?

She gave a frustrated sigh before she leapt into her past, or at least, what she could remember of it.

"I don't remember much of what happened before I was eleven. I woke up in an abandoned house with no recollection of anything. All I had was a piece of paper. One second I should have it in my-" She dug around in her pockets, looking for the note. She couldn't find it. Her heart fluttered with panic. One would tend to do that in a situation where the only thing attached to their past was lost. She took a few deep breaths to calm herself. "I can't find it." Nova didn't want to look crazy in front of a stranger who had shown her so much kindness, so she tried to stay cool and collected.

"What did it say?" He noticed the panic.

"My name is Nova, I am eleven, I am from America, I am alone." The girl said in a low tone, her voice wavering slightly. She had never said the words out loud and it felt so odd to say them. She was suddenly hit with a memory.

And it wasn't a good one.


End file.
